"Pretty"

What it takes to be beautiful..
To be called pretty..
Do you know what it's like?
Do you know what it means?
To hold such responsibility.
It can be a curse, something that follows you where ever you go,
causing people to stare, to judge, to redicule, as if you weren't.."pretty" in the first place.


Regardless of what everyone thinks or admits to, relationships, any relationship, my relationships
are based on what I look like. Sometimes I hate the way people look at me.
Almost like I'm an alien of some sort. And I have come to realize that as I get older,
it is getting worse.


Having any kind of real friendship with one of the opposite sex,
or slight friendship at all is nearly out of the question. Whether it's the boy
who can't seem to fathom having strictly a friendship based relationship with me, a mother who has
the uneasy feeling of me snatching her son away, my family unable to
comprehend me simply wanting to have a friend in the first place, regardless of what sex they may be, or
surrounding watchers passing the stereotypical judgement on me having a boy that really is just a friend..all because of the way I look, to say the least.


Meeting people who want me around to raise the level of popularity or some type of self-worth.
Don't get me wrong, very much so a complement in many ways, but it's like
they are assigning me some kind of job I never applied for. More awkward responsibility.
And not ever knowing how to respond after the fact.


I am always guilty of everything, even if I'm innocent, people have told me there is no way that I could be innocent. They should have just said "Penelope, your too pretty so your the bad one." I'm exagerating I know, but after so many situation I get caught up in everyday because of "the curse" I always joke about, but now I'm not so sure, it really is making itself real.


In the past 19 years I have only had a couple frienships with females because most don't like me. Why?..the way I look? Purhaps. Whatever it may be that their issue is with me, it is one of the most repetitive things is my life. I have to put up with these monsters persay, in the world as soon as I walk out of my front door. I'm assuming I will for the rest of my life. What would it be like if I put a bag over my head? Would I have the same relationships I do now? The same life even, if I looked different?




There is no escape, and people will always be...people.


Pen